From the Sidelines
by EEevee
Summary: [challenge fic] Kio wishes for more than just a taste.


Title: From the Sidelines

Author: Eeevee

Genre: angst – mild

Disclaimer: not mine; not making any money; causing myself issues. Cappesh? Did I even spell that right? Beta: nope it's one "p" and two "e"s Capeesh? Capeesh! ;)

Challenge fic: Song: "Flavor of the Week" by American H-Fi. No rules. Random pick by my playlist #4 of 5. Pairings: one-sided Kio/Soubi.

Kio watched Soubi watch his cell phone.

It was actually pretty boring and his hip seemed to be going to sleep on him. Even his eyelids drooped in the comfortable silence between them. The little studio apartment always seemed more homely when Soubi was in it. Which, unfortunately, always seemed to be rarely. The man was never home.

His eyes glanced over at Soubi's bed, thinking it looked much more inviting. As long as the other man was in it of course.

He couldn't help the ugly, jealous thoughts that ran through his mind.

It seemed that the other artist would never belong to him. Ever. There would always be that someone else between them. That someone that Soubi would blindly follow, making him out to be the kindly, but whiny third wheel. It was no secret to him that Soubi was masochistic. He was drawn to torment like a moth to the flame. Maybe that was why he always drew butterflies; they symbolized his vulgar addictions.

There had been those long nights where he never came home at all, leaving Kio waiting and wondering in the eerie dark. He was always fearful for Soubi. Even if the other man had no regard for himself, Kio always did and always would. Soubi was mortal, even if he didn't seem to realize it, and Kio knew it would catch up with him: the pain, the anguish, and the torture.

Sometimes he would come home very late or early, depending how you looked at it. He was always tired, exhausted really, and smelled of sex and violence. Kio never said anything too harsh. He just got up and made Soubi something warm to drink, making sure there were clean towels.

It was unraveling the threads of Kio's sanity. He knew a bit of this and a touch of that, but Soubi never trusted him with the whole truth. Ever. Somehow he wasn't worthy enough to know what Soubi was really into. Instead, he only got teasers and snippets, dearly hoping someday to get a big clue and put it all together. He just wanted that corner piece of the puzzle.

It was a puzzle that started the day Soubi became his roommate.

He had put up a few notes on campus for someone to share his room. The rent was higher than he could afford alone and there was this homesickness he couldn't quite seem to shake. A roommate was the ideal solution, provided they weren't female and didn't make a huge mess. Kio hated messes. The only exception was when he painted. Then he felt he could let the oil paint run free on his brushes, his canvas, and his heart.

Soubi answered him via cell phone. He sounded pleasant and mature, so Kio let him move in. He had been attending classes that day, so he wasn't there to help. Still, that didn't stop curiosity from taking over. He wandered back to his apartment on his lunch hour, hoping to meet his new roommate and get a quick bite to eat.

He was disappointed to find the door neatly locked. But when he went in, he could see the piles of canvas on the left side of the room. The pictures were placed carefully next to the empty, yet made, bed.

Forgetting his grumbling stomach, he stalked forward towards the art. With curious and excited hands, he turned the first painting over. The vivid, violent colors washed across him like raging emotions. Each brushstroke was insanely detailed and meticulous, but it still emitted raw power. The power shifted and swirl like a vortex drawing Kio in. He found himself staring at the bold paints longer than he would have liked. But there was something in there that drew him. The artist in him was revolted by the fast and loose carelessness of the piece. It seemed to be of poor composition and skill. Yet, there was a masterpiece lurking somewhere in there. It hid and prowled beneath violent strokes and snarled like a chained dragon.

Kio was intrigued.

Who knew butterflies could be so sadistic?

He didn't actually get to meet his roommate until almost a week later.

Kio didn't sleep well at night, so he was semi-conscious when Soubi came stumbling in. Disgusted, he wondered just what he had let in his house. A shiftless drunk. There was no other reason for the digital clock to blink 3 am and this man be staggering around into walls. He must be really sloshed.

Staggering up, he went to flip on the lights. But as he reached for the switch, bloody hands clamped over his own and slender, cold fingers pressed over his mouth.

A husky, low voice whispered, "Don't. Too bright."

Suddenly the hands were gone.

Kio turned to the man, intending to bawl him out. He wanted to tell him to get the hell out and sleep on the streets; that from that moment on he was evicted! Before he got an angry word out, he found himself catching a falling body.

That was the start of a vicious cycle.

Not knowing what else to do, Kio cleaned him up. The wound that tore into his muscles had made the blond queasy, but he moped up the blood and covered it tightly. He knew that whatever his new roommate was doing, it couldn't be legal. So, he wouldn't want to go to the hospital for treatment. The bath had been hard and wrestling him into Kio's second pair of pjs. Tucking him in bed had been a relief, one worthy of a long sigh.

Yes, a pattern.

Just like the white whip marks that crossed Soubi's lithe form. They danced and twined with one another to a feverous beat. Larger, less delicate scars hovered across his front. They marred the perfect skin around his nipples and navel and the base of his neck.

Somehow these clean up sessions never became sexual. Even if Soubi were willing, Kio couldn't bring himself to act on it. The fact that he was bruised and soaked in crimson made the blonde's stomach curdle and sour. There was still an intimacy there between them. It wasn't quite brotherly but it also had nothing to do with drowning out lust and pain.

He missed that intimacy.

Soubi had been going somewhere else to lick his wounds recently.

Ritsuka.

That was the boy's name. Kio had yet to meet him, but in his mind, the name was synonymous with evil. Not because he stole Soubi's affections, but because Kio knew it wouldn't last.

Soubi was an acquired taste and no one but him seemed to stick around to enjoy the taste. He was like a fad. Taken up for a week then dumped. Kio had already seen it happen twice. He had felt the aftermath each time.

The cell finally rung. The sudden noise woke Kio out of his drifting state and he turned to watch Soubi speak lowly into the receiver. With a secretive smile, he snapped the phone shut and rose to his feet.

"I'm going out." Soubi announced.

Surely, Kio replied with his back to the man, "I know."

He knew alright. But maybe, if he waited… then the taste would be all his.

A/N: Don't write things like this in a professor's class… they tend to get kind of pissy when you don't pay attention to the Feudal system. Vassal blah blah blah gentleman blah blah blah lord and peon and king and bishop and pope… okay, I get it! Eh, tell me if it sucked. Inspired by two dvds of yaoi fansubs… what kind of drugs was I on anyway?

"Beta": I thought it was beautiful and it's given me an idea smirks thanks kind authoress for fanning the flame of shouta .


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